


Parable of the Suitor

by Serbrethren



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alcohol, Assassination, Character Death, Death, Drinking, Drinking Games, Drunkenness, Execution, F/M, Frostbite, Gambling, Gen, High Fantasy, Insanity, Magic, Mead, Minor Character Death, Mountains, Murder, Nobility, Romance, Sneaking Around, Stabbing, Strangulation, Swords, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serbrethren/pseuds/Serbrethren
Summary: A carefree, but humble sous chef has his eyes set on a noble woman. However, she is set to be married to one of four potential suitors, and he's not going to let his love fall into the arms of some psychopath.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 3





	Parable of the Suitor

My turn to tell a story? Honestly I dunno how I’m gonna follow up that last one, but I’ll set the scene regardless.

Well the story starts on a mountain, a big, cold as hell mountain. I’m freezing my ass off wearing cheap furs and my only sustenance comes from the block of ice that was once my water supply.

“Why?” Some of you smart folk may ask, “Why are you goin’ up a mountain and getting frostbite? Is it fame? Riches? Beautiful dame?”

Well friends, hate to say it but it’s actually all three. Let’s turn back the clock about two weeks or so.

My name is Theodore, I was thirty seven at the time and I worked as a humble sous chef for the esteemed House Dragoneer in Ryleste. I’m actually Avalonian by birth but no one cares about that, as far as I know everyone’s at least a quarter Avalonian these days.

I am what you lesser folk may call a “reckless idiot” but I like to call it “carefree”. On my hours off I’d sneak around the estate and enjoy the pleasures of nobility. I’d read every book I wasn’t supposed to, touch every vase I wasn’t supposed to, etcetera.

But most of all, I became acquainted with the lady of the house, Ruth Dragoneer.

Ruth was like… she… she was just great. Have you ever met a woman who carries the poise of a swan but can drink mead faster than a band of mercenaries? She’s like that. Elegant when necessary, but the best kind of crazy underneath it all.

Plus, she’s just really pretty. I’ve always had a thing for red hair and freckles, so she’s easy on the eyes. Her more womanly features are fairly flattering too. Not so much grapefruits, but definitely apples at least… if you catch my drift.

I was having a chat with her about the future, as people often do, and we ended up discussing marriage.

“I think I’ll just end up marrying another sous chef.” I chuckled, “We can forge a long generational family of second-place cooks.”

Ruth smirked, “I don’t think you’d be content with that.”

I grinned, “Nah. Not really.”

“Marriage is a rather daunting concept for me.” She sighed, “I’m already being asked to marry like... a dozen potential suitors and I can’t decide on who I want.”

“Why?” I cackled, playing with a toothpick, “All of them suck?”

Ruth almost laughed at that, but admitted, “No... they’re all wonderful.”

“What?” I quickly turned to her and dropped the toothpick.

She seemed put off by what I said and asked, “Is there a problem?”

I realized I was being a little too forward and backed down, “No, nothing. I was just…”

I paused.

“Worried. Worried that your suitors might end up being… nefarious in some way.”

She waved her hand, “Oh, don’t worry about me.”

Full disclosure, I’m in love with this noble girl. Unrealistic? Of course it is, but a man can dream, and a man can pretend. I always thought she saw me on a similar playing field with the other nobles, a “oh well they’re nice and all but I know you better” kind of thing. We’d get hitched, everything would be kosher.

So this was bad news for me. She actually likes some of these douchebags and now I’m stuck as the lesser option. Either she ended up staying here and I’d have to watch her and her husband be all lovey-dovey for hours on end, or she’d leave for whatever house the groom was a part of and I’d never see her again. I’d still have my reading, and my vases, but if I had to live the rest of my natural life serving as secondary cook to Sir Fuckabout, I’d rather fall on one of the knight’s swords.

But no room is without an exit, and I knew exactly where the key was.

“I won’t.” I managed to crank out a smile.

After that she told me she had to go do something, I couldn’t remember what. I just focused on searching for a certain set of documents in the study. Lucius Dragoneer was a moron, so he kept his spare key to the study in the exact place you’d expect him to.

With the twist of the key, I managed to break into the study in a cinch. The guards wouldn’t be patrolling this area for the next half hour, so I had plenty of time to snoop. The folders of assorted papers were haphazardly organized, but finding papers on each of these suitors only required me to look in the “suitor” file near the top.

Like I said, moron. Although I doubt he thought his sous chef would be barging into his study to find papers.

I shuffled through the papers, turns out she only had four suitors? “A dozen” was an embellishment on her end. Oh well.

I hid the now empty folder in one of the bookcases and hoped that if Lucius came back, he’d just assume he misplaced it. It wouldn’t surprise me.

With valuable information in hand, I headed out.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

...Headed out to the local enchanter, I meant.

You thought I was just going to rush to House Ramiel or whatever and shove papers in their face? No no no, I needed to cover my tracks first.

I walked into my buddy Luke’s shop, the guy was a wicked spellcaster and was comfortable with doing some seedier stuff if need be.

The shop was… cozy? Comfy? It was small. Since most of his business was just him casting spells for other people he didn’t have a ton of stuff in his shop except cheap decor and some raw materials on the shelves. There were all sorts of tapestries on the wall, mostly that “return to tradition” type stuff. Guy was old school, he even spoke in a terrible fake accent. It was stupid, but the guy was nice so I dealt with it.

“Oi Theo! I ‘aven’t seen you in half a year, what gives man?” Luke called out to me as I walked through the front door.

I sighed, “Ah, nothing much Luke, I just need to copy some papers.”

“Copy papers?” He arched his brow, “You’ve never asked me to copy papers before, man. What’s the deal?”

“The ‘deal’ is that I’m not supposed to have this, but I need to have it. So therefore, I need copies.” I put the documents on his countertop, “Sound good?”

He shrugged, “No reason I can’t, I s’pose. So long as you got the money.”

I groaned, “How much, magic man?”

“Fabricate’s a level four, and it’ll take ten minutes to cast, so it’ll run you…” He pondered on the math for a moment, “Twenty thousand. Four hundred in crowns.”

I knotted my brow and felt something wrathful stir within me, “What.”

“Okay, okay! Friend discount it is. Ten thousand, better?”

“No!” I exploded, “Not better! You think I have that kind of money?!”

“...You really don’t have two hundred crowns?” Luke chuckled.

I tried to rub the grimace off my face, “No… No I don’t.”

He sighed, “Look man, I’ve got a business to run. You’re a good customer but you need to pay the discount at least.”

“It’s four papers, Luke!” I growled, “Can’t I pay you back later?”

He deliberated on it for some time, but finally gave in.

“Fine. I’ll need you to help me with something next week.” He annoyedly declared, “If you don’t do it, you’ll be banned from my shop.”

I didn’t care about whatever he needed me to do, I just wanted those papers copied fast. The more time spent deliberating, the more time Lucius had to discover the missing documents.

It was the slowest ten minutes of my life. Watching Luke transposit the ink onto the page in such a thorough manner was a marvel to watch, yet I kept imagining Lucius finding the documents missing and calling for an inspection. If he saw I was missing, he would’ve beheaded me for sure.

“All done, your forged documents are ready for pickup.” Luke snarked.

I grabbed the papers, gave him a quiet thanks and left the building.

It took about fifteen minutes to get back to the manor on horseback, I expected the guards to be patrolling the study so I just kept the papers in my raggedy bag until the time was right. There were worse places to hide them, I suppose.

I entered the manor through the front, simply telling the guards nearby I was on a walk and I was coming back for work. I was making my way to the kitchen when suddenly…

“Oh! Theodore, I didn’t expect to see you.”

Ruth! ...Along with some other guy. He smelled like perfume and looked like a pruned peacock wearing one of those fancy white and gold military uniforms. The guy even wore a ceremonial sword on his hip. You know, the kind decorated with a million medallions and trinkets. I could take a guess as to who this was just based on the documents.

Jeremiah Ramiel, the firstborn of House Ramiel. The Ramiel family exported all sorts of exotic eldritch meats, I suppose. I don’t know why anyone would eat grilled zombie, but I’m also not rich. Maybe entering the highest echelon of wealth turns you into a reptile.

Jeremiah himself was a romantic rival and friend to another one of the suitors, Thomas Warren. They’re fond of gambling competitions and were apparently very exorbitant spenders.

Jeremiah looked at me with an air of confusion, “You know him, Ruthie?”

“Yeah, he’s the sous chef of our house.” She smiled warmly.

He looked even more puzzled, “The sous chef?” He turned to her, “You’re friends with your sous chef?”

“Problem with that?” Ruth frowned at him.

Jeremiah awkwardly coughed, “Sorry, that was rude of me. There’s no problem with being acquainted with your sous chef.”

“You look…” I glazed over his uniform again, “Well dressed.”

“You noticed?” He smiled, letting his medallions sway as he moved, “Lucius insisted I wore my best, so I took some extra time on my outfit.”

I snickered, “I see you chose to incorporate every color you knew into the outfit.”

Jeremiah paused for a second to muse over his tunic, then laughed, “Hah hah! I suppose my outfit is rather dichromatic.” He grinned, “Clever clever.”

“Don’t be rude, Theo.” Ruth playfully admonished, “You’re lucky Jeremiah has a good sense of humor.”

“I must say,” Jeremiah began, “You struck me as far more of a dishwasher than a sous chef on first glance. Your garments were so moist I thought you had just finished using the well water.”

He snickered to himself and half-heartedly took back the insult, “Just a jab, sorry if I struck a nerve.” He continued to laugh at my expense.

I rolled my eyes, “Very clever.”

Ruth intervened, “I’d love to hear more snark, but supper is approaching and I think someone needs to be in the kitchen.”

“Needs to be in the kitchen” was an exaggeration, and even just calling the statement hyperbole was generous. Jeremiah might’ve had a point with the dishwasher jab.

And so I engaged in my so-called duties while the head chef did most of the heavy lifting because “the princess’s soon-to-be husband is here and I don’t need you bastards screwing up his meal”. Nice fellow, the head chef.

While I was cooking I thought about Jeremiah, and by extension those of the other houses. I wondered if I could dispose of them in discreet manners, ways that wouldn’t cast suspicion onto myself.

The method of disposing was on my mind first and foremost, particularly in the form of an assassin. I could ask them to forge a calling card and make it look like a series of serial murders. Plus, unless they were caught I wouldn’t have to deal with the ramifications.

Problem was I had no money, and I was already in debt to Luke over that spell, so he wasn’t going to be doing me any favors. For my ambitions to work out, I needed crowns, and I needed them fast.

“Back to mopping, Theo!” The head chef thundered, startling all the cooks and drawing the attention of Lucius, who walked into the kitchen.

The old crone spoke in a rasp, “Head chef? Is there a problem?”

The head chef was quick to morph into a normal disposition, “None at all, your grace.”

Lucius nodded and left, but before he left the room I noted his fineries. The robe, those exorbitant jewels, every bit of his attire seemed ripe for a thief to pick.

And thus, I found my crowns.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

Of course, I didn’t nab the clothes off of Lucius’s body. That would be flagrant theft. I simply looked for the various royal trinkets that no one would miss. Truly, Lucius would be unable to live without his golden egg cup. Nor, dare I say, his platinum thimble! Oh the humanity.

Needless to say, I filled my satchel with all manner of shinies and planned to gamble the next day.

Sound stupid? It was. But I needed more than royal chump change in order to hire an assassin multiple times. Four assassinations! You know how much it costs to enact ONE assassination? I’ll tell you what, it’s a hell of a lot more than the two hundred crowns I didn’t pay Luke for. Also, I’d be lying if I said that reading Jeremiah’s file didn’t plant the gambling idea in my head.

What I had in my bag was in the ballpark of six hundred crowns, which could buy me a very pretty sword and maybe a few of those killer bee sausages. 

...We do things differently in Ryleste.

Alright, no more about the bees. Let me set the new scene, I’ve decided that the day after I was going to go gambling at the shittiest gambling hut I knew, “The Dragon’s Hoard”.

Really it should’ve been called “The Dragon”, because it being called “The Dragon’s Hoard” implies that it's a treasure that you can earn and not a gold eating monster that keeps it all to itself.

But before you ask, I didn’t walk in without some kind of plan.

I stepped inside the hall and admired the dark, silk curtains contrasting the plain, linen flooring. The colors didn’t mesh at all and there were alcohol stains littered all over the place. The only redeeming quality were the lantern-lit engravings of dragons on the few wooden walls not covered by a curtain.

As I strolled through the room I caught the sight of some of the usual suspects. You’d always have the drunks on the left, and the scumbags on the right. The drunks were the loudest, but the scumbags kept quiet. They wore tattered rags and bore dark insignia. Likely part of some syndicate. I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t gonna get involved.

I took a seat at one of the tables near the back and cracked my knuckles. I was going to play some games, win some crowns and kill some suitors.

“What’s the game?” I asked the dealer.

“M&M.” His eyes barely moved in my direction, “You sure you’re up for drinking?”

I sighed, “I’m thirty seven, I can hold my mead.”

He seemed content with that answer and began pouring glasses.

M&M was short for Meads and Minefields. Dealer pours out thirty glasses, one of them has a red dot at the bottom of the glass. You can’t see it from the bottom and you have to drink it to find it. Before each player takes a drink everyone places crowns into the pot saying “this guy’s drink won’t have the dot.” Whoever’s glass has the dot wins the pot. The dealer starts with a minimum betting requirement that increases if any player ups the ante. The other players have to match the raise. Finally, if the number of glasses decreases to ten, the game is lost and the pot goes to the house.

I wasn’t here to get drunk though, and part of the reason gambling huts have this game is because the players start getting stupid with their bets as time passes. A particularly devious tactic the dealer can employ is to not even have the dot glass present at all. They’ll show it off, pour the mead in, then switch it out with a regular glass.

If this table’s worth its salt however, it’ll pour all the glasses out in front of us and use a specialized wheel to “randomize” the glass position. Rules usually dictate that you remain blindfolded during the spin, and it's rather hard for the house to cheat unless they have very deft hands.

The other two players arrived at the table, one of them stoic as a rock and the other one already drunk off his mind. I had a feeling the latter wasn’t going to be winning.

The human statue (I’ll call him Mr. Stoic) was a man who looked a little too distinguished to be in a place like this. Everything from his appearance to his mannerisms felt clean cut. I doubted any kind of noble would be here so I just assumed at the time that he was just very good at keeping himself together.

The drunk (I’ll creatively call him Mr. Drunkard) resembled the target demographic for the Hoard far more than Mr. Stoic. A doofus with scraps for clothes and booze on the tongue who looked to be at rock bottom, but somehow found new ways to go lower.

The dealer showed us the dotted glass and turned to fill the glasses, but as I was about to speak up, Mr. Stoic did so first.

“Stop.” His voice boomed, “Use the turntable.”

The dealer grunted, but obliged regardless.

He placed each of the thirty empty glasses onto the wheel. It resembled a layered cake, with each of the four tiers having less glasses each time. From sixteen, to eight, to four then finally two on the top. The dealer was good at keeping his placements ambiguous, but I guessed he either put it on the second or third tier.

“One in four or one in eight?” I questioned in my head.

Mr. Drunkard offered to go first. I’m guessing he was just there for the mead and any extra money was just a bonus. Although I doubt he would’ve called out the dealer if neither of us were here.

The dealer coughed, “Twenty crowns for the blinds.”

I only had time to exchange a couple of those platinum thimbles for crowns before rush hour, so I only had a hundred fifty crowns physically. Missing rush hour would’ve cut my chances of getting any bets worth taking in half.

I gingerly put down my blinds, and watched as Mr. Stoic did the same.

We blindfolded ourselves as the dealer spun the table. I kept my ears peeled for any sign of glass tampering on the dealer’s end. Only the sound of whirring was present, I was surprised the dealer kept it clean.

The blindfolds came off, and the guessing game commenced.

“I’ll… -hic- take that one.” Mr. Drunkard said, pointing to one of the glasses on the fourth layer.

Some air came out of my nose hearing that. The two at the top were the least likely to be the dotted glasses for reasons that should be fairly obvious.

But what if…

“Nothing.” Mr. Drunkard moped.

That “what if” would remain hypothetical forevermore.

“I’ll take this one.” I pointed to one of the glasses on the third layer, hoping I could get away with a 25% chance rather than 12.5%.

After I chose my glass, each of the other players placed another twenty into the pot, raising the pot to a hundred crowns. The mead tasted average, and the results complemented the drink.

“Hm.” I disappointedly put the glass to my side.

Mr. Stoic deliberated on his choice for a few moments, but decided on the first layer. I didn’t get it. Sure, it’s the most beneficial for the dealer, but it's also the lowest chance on first pick. But I suppose someone had to bite the bullet.

“Hm… I’ll bet thirty crowns.” I confidently grinned.

Mr. Stoic’s face didn’t change, he just looked at Mr. Drunkard, who matched my raise. Surprise of all surprises, it wasn’t the one.

This game went on for a couple minutes without much happening. Mr. Stoic kept going for the bottom row, while Mr. Drunkard went down the line from top to bottom. The thirty crown minimum didn’t increase, and I didn’t have many crowns to play with to begin with, so I couldn’t keep betting forever.

My only other drink during that time didn’t provide me with anything, no dots nor any kind of buzz. What was this weak shit? Whatever. Mr. Drunkard took all of the top layer and only one glass remained on the third layer, the second was free game and the first layer was barely touched.

Thus came the difficult choice, should I assume I just had bad luck and that this will be the one? Or take a big risk by choosing one of eight glasses?

“...Give me the last one on the third layer. This is my last round.” My hands had become clammy as I reached for the glass. Sweat dribbled down my back as I downed the mediocre drink in one swig. Three hundred and ninety crowns were on the line.

“Holy fuck.” I stammered.

And there it was.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

“I won!” I yelled out, letting it echo throughout the building, “I fucking won!”. Mr. Stoic was visibly annoyed and Mr. Drunkard just cheered with me. I don’t even think he was lucid. Shit, you know how pissed I would’ve been if he had won?

“Someone’s having fun.” I heard a mellow voice call from behind. A familiar one.

My gambler’s high quickly froze up as I turned to look at who was calling out to me. Although he wasn’t nearly as well dressed as before, he still had the air of nobility on his person. That air was only accented further by the bejeweled sword he kept at his side. It was Jeremiah.

“Theo, was it? I didn’t realize you played M&M here too!” He took a seat next to me, “Or is this your first time at the Hoard and you frequent elsewhere?”

“I… uh…” I couldn’t form complete sentences. I didn’t think, nor did I know why he’d be at this seedy-ass joint.

Was he onto me?

“No, I got my paycheck a few hours ago and decided to try gambling for the first time.” I quaintly responded.

He didn’t seem to mind, “First time for everything, eh? I see your beginner’s luck was strong this time around.”

The dealer cut off our conversation, “Who’s going first?”

“I’ll go.” Jeremiah volunteered, then added a request, “Could you pull up an extra chair, sir? I have someone who is going to be showing up in half an hour or so.”

The dealer nodded and pulled in a chair from one of the empty tables. He placed each glass on the carousel once again and poured. This time it was either on the first or second layer.

Jeremiah took one from the first layer, as did the rest of us. The blinds began at twenty again and no one seemed eager to bet much more than that. The pot had risen to nine hundred and twenty when the fourth set of turns was about to be finished. I had a hundred and seventy crowns and was feeling comfortable, but then Jeremiah suddenly chipped in.

“Raise to one hundred.” He smiled, “I want to add some spice to this game.”

I broke into a cold sweat, that bastard just upped the ante to a ridiculous level! I could only play one more match before I’d have to quit thanks to that.

“Fuck.” I muttered to myself, he returned the whisper with a mock sinister laugh. I knew in my head he was playing for fun but I could feel my heart twisting after that. I really did not care for him at that moment.

By the time it hit Jeremiah’s turn, I didn’t have enough crowns for his drink.

“Dammit, dammit…” I muttered.

Jeremiah grinned, I could tell he was getting some kind of enjoyment out of operating this torture chamber, “What’s wrong? Let’s see your one hundred!”

If I gave in now, then I’d only have the treasures in my bag left and I couldn’t gamble here again, not with Jeremiah lingering over it. The higher end places charged too much and if he saw me with more money tomorrow then he’d know that my paycheck fib was a complete farce.

So I did the only thing I could do, I brought out the goods.

Jeremiah had only been to the manor once or twice, and considering he was attached to Ruth’s hip every time I saw him, I doubted that he’d ever seen any of what I was going to pull out. I kept it subtle, just one item. I’d call it an heirloom if he asked, he’d probably call me out for selling an heirloom for gambling funds, whatever.

It was a jeweled, platinum necklace. One of many that were in Lucius’s jewelry box. The jewel was colored a dark crimson and the metal holding it was warped in a way that resembled a basket coming apart. It was gorgeous, but more importantly, it was worth something.

“Hm.” The dealer scratched his chin, “I’ll allow it, but only this once.”

I sighed in relief, thank the gods this dealer was so lax on the rules. Any good place might’ve just kicked me out.

But Jeremiah just stared at the necklace, I couldn’t read his expression but I had feared he was going to start asking me questions.

“Interesting, Theodore.” He nodded, “I must say, I didn’t expect this form of payment.”

“What can I say?” I played it off, “I don’t have money, but I’ve got the clothes on my back.”

“Yes, yes.” He continued to nod, “I did hear a lot of jingling in your bag, so I’m guessing you have a few heirlooms.”

“Of course, I don’t have many places to put them, after all.” I chuckled.

“Not your living quarters?” His smile began to widen.

I shook my head, “Dragoneer Manor is nightmarishly cramped.”

“I see, I see.” He smiled, “I must ask, if you were planning on gambling your heirlooms away, why didn’t you exchange them for crowns already?”

I groaned, “Look, I’m doing this spur of the moment, alright?” A few moments passed before I kept going, “I didn’t think you were going to bet so much all of a sudden.”

“Mhm, mhm.” He coughed, “You know, Theodore, seeing that brooch reminded me of a story I heard a few days ago.”

Saying nothing, I let him continue, “One of the lesser known noble houses had a humble staff of ten or so people, very few guards, not even a sous chef.” He winked at me, “A guard who hated the house patriarch snuck into his room one night and stole a necklace, just like that one.”

I began to sweat, “Yeah?”

“The guard was beheaded the morning after! That fast, huh?” He chuckled, “It’s strange too, because… I’ve only ever seen brooches like that in possession of other nobility.”

“It’s an heirloom.” I spoke tersely.

“And you are a sous chef.” He spoke, still smiling.

He grabbed one of the glasses from the bottom row, “Cheers.”

And there it was.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

Jeremiah stole the hoard from the table, every single crown glittered like a star in the lamplight in such a way… and all those stars were swept into the gaping maw of his highness’s satchel.

I didn’t care about the crowns anymore, I could already feel some kind of pain or pressure on my neck. Some phantom of a blade, a rope, bullet holes, even. I could see my death flashing before my eyes and nothing looked pretty. I was in a stupor for several minutes, only being brought back to lucidity when Jeremiah spoke.

“I’m going to wait for my friend outside, he’s late.”

My eyes darted towards him, already leaving the hut. He never even looked at me. Before I knew it, he had left the building.

The fear of death, the loss of crown, the hatred of him and his stupid, smiling face, the idea that I’d lose Ruth! All of it coalesced into one motion. The motion to pursue.

“Come…” I paused, “COME BACK HERE!”

I sprinted towards the exit in just a few motions, shoving anyone who dared to stand in my path. I bursted through the wooden door and couldn’t find him, he must’ve been waiting somewhere else.

The sides, the sides! I dashed to my left and around the corner, he was there, leaning against the wall, his eyes firmly stationed in my direction. He must’ve heard the door.

There was no pause in my movements, the moment I saw the bastard I lunged at him, lunged with the kind of force you could only achieve in a grief and hate-ridden burst of adrenaline.

He was quick to try and wrestle me off, but his blue blood must’ve wasted at his muscles, because he couldn’t even begin to tear me off of him. I hung onto his back and coiled my arms around his supple throat and just squeezed. I felt him gasp for air, his throat desperately trying to bring life back into his weak body, but nothing came through. His clothes were being dirtied as my boots scraped against his clothing, everything that made him strong succumbing to raw violence.

And suddenly, he fell down.

Not dead yet, but hardly alive either. I took a moment to breathe and let the moonlight wash over me. I was victorious.

My eyes turned to his hip, and the ceremonial blade attached to it. It wasn’t powerful, but it would be enough to finish what I started.

I took the blade from its sheath and looked at it closely. The luster, especially with the moon reflecting off of it, was gorgeous. The gemstones were an eyesore but they didn’t matter. All that mattered was this blade.

I turned the sharp end towards Jeremiah’s chest and plunged.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

There’s a level of dissonance between “wanting someone dead” and actually going through with it.

I was perfectly prepared to kill the bastards trying to take Ruth from me, but once I actually skewered Jeremiah, I felt a sickness welling up in my gut, like I should vomit. A gag reflex of the soul, perhaps.

First time for everything, eh?

It wasn’t just the sickness that permeated my body after seeing the blood pool out of his wound and stain his clothing, it was the sudden feeling that all eyes were on me. Like some unknown specter had known what I did and would hunt me down to the ends of the earth to bring me to justice.

I grabbed Jeremiah’s satchel, checking the contents. All those crowns he swindled from me, all the treasures. That, and more.

“What time was it?” I thought, “Can I pull off this exchange before morning comes?”

The feeling of paranoia and guilt didn’t subside, and once I did a brief perimeter check for any other people, I ran away from the crime scene.

It was the dead of night, and right now the exchange hub was on its graveyard shift. Not many people were around at this hour and the workers didn’t ask too many questions.

I entered the clean, wooden hall and walked up to one of the counters. Each counter was covered with an iron grate that could only be opened from the teller’s side. Behind the teller were several safes, I assumed each one was filled to the brim with bank notes.

“Good evening…” I remarked with a chuckle, “Or is it morning? Can’t tell.”

The teller wasn’t taking any of my shit, “Sir, there’s a dial on the wall if you don’t know the time. Deposit your treasure.”

I coughed, “Right, sorry miss.”

I took out every trinket, every bauble in my possession and showed it to her, “I’ll need these in crowns.”

She nodded and started counting, “Take a seat on one of the benches… or the floor, I don’t judge.”

I sat down on one of the wooden pews and watched as she looked through every platinum thimble, every ruby necklace, every bit of blood money I had. She was meticulous, but simultaneously didn’t consider why a guy like me would even have that kind of dosh.

“Highway robbery?” I heard a polite, but sinister voice next to me. I jumped in my seat for a moment and quickly focused on the source of the noise.

A man in a crimson hood. Even a child would be savvy enough to look at this man and realize he’s a seedy crook. Judging by how well kept he was, I’d say he was proud of it too. Wore the title of professional criminal like a badge of honor.

“No, no…” I nervously chuckled, “I’m just your average treasure hunter.”

I couldn’t see his face, but I could tell he was grinning like a ghoul, “I’m no fool, you rogue. I’ve seen many manors in my time and those are the jewels of nobility.”

I grit my teeth, “Do you want something?”

“I’d like something, yes.” He relaxed in his seat, “I saw you run out of the Hoard in a huff during one of my games. A few minutes later, I saw a corpse outside. What’s that about, hm?”

Fuck, he was one of them. One of the bastards at the Hoard on the right side. I said I didn’t wanna get involved and now here I am.

I began to shiver, “Wh-What about that indeed…”

“You really oughta cover your tracks better. You’re lucky I was so close by, otherwise the other players might have seen that corpse as well, they might’ve gotten…” He paused, “...ideas.”

“Haha!” I forcefully laughed, drawing the teller’s attention for a moment before she returned to her bean counting. I continued, “Want me to pay you back, then?”

He coughed, “No, no. Not exactly.”

I cocked my eyebrow, “Yeah? Then what was the point of that?”

The crook wrapped his arm around my shoulder, “You actually did me a favor by killing Jeremiah, and I was wondering if you had any others you felt inclined to… get rid of.”

Removing his arm from my shoulder, I whispered, “Three, actually.”

He quietly cackled, “Monstrous! I like your energy.” He took out a purse and opened it up, “I’ll just need… two hundred crowns? For formality’s sake.”

I was ecstatic. I hardly even needed to steal all those trinkets when this guy was willing to kill for such a cheap price. However…

“What’s the catch?” I stopped myself from becoming too excited, there had to be a catch.

He coughed, “Perceptive one, yeah? Two hundred is far too low for three assassinations. That of course is why you’ll need to pay two hundred for each head. Sound fair?”

I had to stop myself from laughing, was that really the catch? No shit I can pay six hundred crowns.

I coughed, “Well, my friend. I’m not so sure I can afford that…” I declared, “But I’m sure I can find it in my heart to give you… six hundred…” I began to break down, “Six hundred crowns!”

He seemed to take it in stride, “So long as you pay, we’ll be fine.”

The teller had just finished converting all my stolen treasure into bank notes, and I gave the assassin two hundred crowns worth of notes.

“Name of the first target?” He inquired.

“Fargo Leopoldi.” I replied, he wrote the name down.

“Thank you, partner. I’ll be sure to keep in touch.” And like a phantom, he vanished.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

I saw a vision during my few hours of rest, visions of a city in the clouds and a golden, brick road. In the distance, I saw Ruth.

“Ruth!” I called out to her, running as fast as I could.

She waved at me with an empty smile, “Hello Theodore.”

I caught up to her and found myself dressed in noble clothing, a bit garish for my tastes, but purely ceremonial. We were getting married, after all.

“Theodore. I love the way you walk.”

“Why thank you, Ruth.” I bowed.

Everything about the wedding was going as planned, I buried the corpses of all the other grooms in the backyard where no one would ever see them again. I locked it up tight, too. No one will find them. I’ll kill anyone who goes looking.

I saw Ruth’s eyes drifting about. Clearly, she was bored of the ceremony and simply wanted to get to the cake.

I turned to Lucius, “Come on, pops. Ask the question!”

The withered bastard looked like he was going to die on the spot, and with his last words he said, “Do you… take my daughter as your lawfully… wedded…”

“I do.” I said as I plunged a knife into her back.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

I jolted up from my prone state and suddenly became lucid again. Dreams, eh? That stuff’s nonsense anyways.

I kept fixating on the knife, though. Did I get a vision? Or was that just the trauma of me spiking Jeremiah in the back? I suppose the latter would make more sense.

My thin, linen blanket was covered in sweat, as was the mattress I was laying on. I got out of bed and put on a new pair of clothes. The blood on the old ones wasn’t notable, but I wasn’t going to have someone here wash it. I had been lax in my mission, and I would be lax no longer.

I checked under my bed for my treasures, all safe and accounted for. No one else had woken up yet, so I was safe to inspect further. During my inspection, I found a curious slip of paper that I had not previously noticed.

It was a crumpled up bank note, but someone had written a message on it.

"My friend,  
The first deed has been done.  
I would like you to meet me on the broken path, a few miles from your house.  
I would like to discuss payment for the other two targets.  
Thank you,  
The Butcher of Fairmouth"

It seemed as if my mysterious benefactor was much sneakier than I expected, somehow managing to get into the manor with ease, without awakening anyone, it seemed. I am thankful he is helping me.

As I put my note away, however, I wondered exactly why he needed to discuss payment with me. We agreed on two hundred crowns for each target, what’s there to discuss? I could’ve assumed he just meant “meet me here so you can pay me”, but he worded it in such a way that sounded like the deal changed somehow. Maybe that was the catch all along?

I caught word of the two deaths from Lucius at the table. Everybody else was distraught but I could hardly contain my elation. Two dead in one night, and only two left? I even joked to myself that I could get the other two killed tonight. And considering the butcher’s expediency, I’d believe it.

I helped cook Ruth as fine a breakfast as I could manage on my own, but she didn’t seem hungry. If anything, I should’ve been the one to lose my appetite.

After breakfast came a day of chores, cleaning the wood until it shone like a baby’s ass, cleaning the dishes until they shone like a baby’s ass, cleaning the blood off my clothes until… you get it. Lots of baby asses.

Then came the evening. As my day finally came to a close and Ruth left for a night of solo drinking, I made my way to the Broken Path on horseback.

The night wind pushed against me as I rode ahead, my tufts of brown hair flapping behind me as I approached the landmark. Lamps adorning the roadside illuminated signs chained to wooden posts. All of it was tourist trap nonsense.

The Broken Path was named because of a massive footprint that stamped out a portion of the road centuries ago. Local legend says that a really, really stupid thaumaturge had the idea to summon a Tarrasque into Genesia. World destruction, I guess? I don’t know. The Tarrasque walked for about a mile before every capable thaumaturge in the area wished the damn thing back to wherever the hell it came from. If they HAD killed it, the tourist traps would be even worse.

Instead of building over the footprint, they just carved out new roads around the footprint and added “historical facts” all around the site of interest. Stuff talking about the idiot who summoned it in the first place, the guys who sealed it again, and about Tarrasques themselves.

The butcher was there, his cloak flapping in the wind as he perused one of the signs.

“Mr. Wells.” He spoke. It startled me for a moment, both for how sudden it was and the fact that he knew my last name at all.

“...Butcher.” I bowed ever so slightly.

He turned to me, his face still shrouded in darkness, “You can keep your four hundred crowns. I’ve decided I want something different for payment this time around.”

“What?” I queried, “But we agreed on six hundred, yes?”

“Oh but that was simply too little, my friend.” He walked closer to me, “You knew as well as I did that there was something greater that I wanted.”

I paused for a moment before folding my arms, “What do you want.”

He took a step back, “A relic from House Skarsgard, a crest.”

“I can’t steal a relic.” I frowned.

He grunted, “You can steal a dozen baubles but you can’t steal one relic?” The butcher stood up straight and grimaced, “Come now, Theodore. You wouldn’t be trying to lie to me too, would you?”

I looked away from his shadowed face, “I just think this is a little bit… risky.”

“If you get me this relic, I’ll kill the remaining two targets, no more deal changes.”

I glanced back at him, “You swear?”

He pulled out a small knife, no bigger than a dinner fork, and cleanly slashed his palm. The blood pooled and dripped from the wound for at least twenty seconds before swore, “On my life.”

He bandaged his hand up and had begun to speak more casually, “You can use your remaining crowns for weapons and runes. I want the Slave Breaker’s Crest, it should be in their treasury. If not? They might have mounted it on a wall somewhere.

I nodded, “Fine. I’ll do what it takes.”

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

Following the butcher’s orders, I purchased a rapier and a couple runes, mostly for stealth purposes. I was able to nab three without going over budget and I looked up what the “Slave Breaker’s Crest” even was.

As I rode to the House of Skarsgard, I replicated its description to memory. A former symbol of Grimmish superiority over the Arkadian nation during the third generation, particularly used by the houses of Arkadian slave owners. The crest was a symbol of oppression, but these days it’s a valuable artifact for historical purposes.

The House of Skarsgard was tall, a series of interconnected towers looming over a comparatively small manor. The massive front door was beckoning me to tear through it, but the object was stealth, not bombast. I got off my steed and found a window to climb through instead.

Inside the manor were several staircases that I assumed led up to the various towers, but my eyes were darting around. I may have killed once before, but high stress situations were not my forte. Every step I took felt like a thunderclap, and every bit of silence was filled with phantom noises of guards patrolling the area. No guards ever came. At least, not at the frequency to justify my paranoia. Regardless, I trudged onward towards the treasure room.

The door, however, didn’t budge.

“Locked?!” I thought, “Where the hell am I supposed to find a key?”

Was it in the master bedroom? The armory? It could be anywhere. It could even be…

I looked under a loose brick on the floor and found the spare key. Great minds think alike, as they say. Perhaps Lucius and the master of the house should get tea sometime.

The room was littered with baubles and crowns and yadda yadda yadda. I only cared about the crest, and there was no such crest.

“Dammit.” I whispered to myself.

The clanking of armor suddenly drew my attention, and I quickly rushed outside and burned one of my runes, closing the door quietly as I did so.

The guard came into view a minute later, his plate armor gleaming against the light of his lamp. He walked past me without even a glance. Once he left my view, I breathed a sigh of relief.

If not the treasury, perhaps each of the individual rooms? It wouldn’t surprise me if a valuable relic like the crest might’ve been kept with one of the nobles as room decor, although I might’ve found that tasteless.

I checked each room for the crest, starting with the master of the house, then his wife, then their eldest daughter, none of them had the crest and were (thankfully) heavy sleepers.

Then came Cael Skarsgard, Ruth’s third suitor and a soon-to-be cadaver. It was in that room that I found the crest.

Finding that crest brought a grin to my face, and I almost slammed the door with gusto. Fortunately, I stopped my hand and opted for a much slower close.

“Let’s get this bastard unmounted, eh?” I thought as I took the crest off the wall. I looked down at Cael, sleeping so innocently in his bed. He had no idea what was going to happen to him.

Or perhaps, what was about to happen to him.

I put the crest down quietly and rifled through his things. Some pointless, princely garments, a few lesser relics, and of course…

The ceremonial sword.

I unsheathed the sword and smiled, carefully making my way to Cael and pointing the blade downward.

“Cael.” I spoke.

He slowly woke up, his eyes drifting around the room and slowly focusing on me. His face slowly turned to panic and I could sense that dreaded fight or flight instinct kicking in, but the sword punctured his heart before he could even move.

“Shh shh shh…” I quickly covered his mouth, “It’s alright, it’s alright. Ruth will live her best life as you sleep.”

His looks of confusion and pain quickly melted away into drowsiness, then from drowsiness it dipped into unconsciousness. Death would soon follow him.

I removed my saliva and bite-ridden hand from his mouth, shaking off the spittle in disgust before wiping what was left on my shirt.

I discarded the ceremonial blade and drew my own rapier, listening for any signs of life from the dying noble before sheathing it once again.

“Gone already, huh?” I remarked quietly before leaving the manor. I left as silently as I had entered.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

I was in a good mood on my way back to the manor, but there was only one problem.

I couldn’t find the butcher.

I had thought he would remain on the Broken Path, but he had vanished like the wind. I had no idea where he was and could only hope he left me a note back at the manor.

That was the other problem too, the crest. It was way too big for me to cram under my bed and I had nowhere else to put it. I could throw it in a random bush, but fuck if I was going to let some guy walking in the woods steal it. I had to put it somewhere secure, where people likely weren’t going to be removing things.

My idea, the treasury. The only person to take anything from there in the last year was me, and while the staff at the manor keeps stock every now and then, they shouldn’t be doing that tomorrow.

Should they? I wasn’t really keeping track. Wasn’t my job. Fuck, what if they did end up checking?

I decided to go all in and take the risk. As I quietly returned to the manor as I did previously, I placed the crest under some crowns and left the treasury to collect dust. I hoped to the gods that it would stay that way.

And children, I learned a valuable lesson the next morning. Hope is a lie.

“Gather round, staff meeting, everyone.” The captain spoke, “We’ve taken stock of the treasury and this…!” He lifted the crest, “Was discovered among the treasure.”

Everyone began to murmur amongst themselves about why such an item would be in the manor.

“Settle down, settle down.” He reassured, “If you are no thief, there is no issue.”

He scanned the crowd, and I swore his eyes focused on me at one point. The captain continued, “This crest is the property of House Skarsgard. In addition to losing a precious relic of theirs, it came to my attention just a few hours ago that the master’s son, Cael, was murdered hours prior.”

The murmuring turned to panic, and people began to connect this death with the deaths of Fargo and Jeremiah. But that, in tandem with theft… 

“We believe the two are connected.” He boldly proclaimed, “And because the crest was discovered in our own treasury, it is safe to say that one of our own must have been responsible for all this bloodshed.

Panic turned to suspicion, and the chattering ceased, giving way to silent judgment. They all knew someone did it, but couldn’t tell who.

“We will be scouring the perimeter for evidence of criminal acts in anyone’s personal possession.” The captain stared daggers into the congregation’s eyes, “Whoever is found with sufficient evidence will be beheaded in honor of Cael Skarsgard.”

With those words, the captain departed.

As quickly as I could without drawing suspicion, I made my way back to my living quarters. I had to think fast, as the others in my room would likely be coming in here soon. With a swift motion, I swept every one of my monetary possessions under the bed of the guy across from me. My personal belongings that could identify me were kept under my bed, but my rapier, my crowns, and especially my invisibility runes were all swept under this poor bastard’s mat.

I breathed a sigh of relief and got properly dressed for the work day.

Of course, it didn’t take long for the death knell to arrive. While I was cooking lunch for the missus and the crone, I heard loud screaming from the room just outside the dining hall. I picked up a few words, mostly “You’ve dishonored House Dragoneer” and “No use fighting it”.

I had to admit, this felt different. There was a pang of guilt that ran through me, hearing this guy get dragged away and likely executed for something I did. He was just some random guy who was sleeping across from me, and I just indirectly pushed him off a canyon.

No use sweating the details though, eh? Ruth was so close to me and I just needed Thomas Warren’s corpse before all competition was removed from the playing field.

Wait, what about the butcher? I kept the thought in mind as I was working. When I was quickly shuffling my stuff away, I hadn’t even considered if I had a note. The only papers I moved were bank notes and runes, everything else was made of gold or some other precious metal. No papers.

Where did the butcher go?

The moment I was on break between noon and supper, I rifled through my own belongings and sure enough, no letter. My benefactor had simply vanished into thin air.

Even worse came the other realization, I had no money and no weapons. I evaded death, sure. But my chances of reaching House Warren and successfully killed Thomas was… unlikely.

I calmed myself down, and reassured myself, “All is well, Theo. All you need to do is what you’ve always done.” I left my quarters and looked upward, “Just a little highway robbery.”

I served my dinner duties. Mopping, dusting, fucking whatever. My vision was clouded with thoughts of the final kill and finally having Ruth as my own. I’d wash the hell out of these dishes and then enact divine justice with gusto.

The bastards had put everyone on high alert, so it wasn’t easy for me to find time to enact my plan. But eventually, I got one. The guards rotated positions every other hour, and during that time the treasury remained unguarded. If it wasn’t in the treasury, I could check the armory for my weapons. Once I entered either room, I had to stay there. If I tried to leave then there was a significant chance I could be discovered.

As each shift began, the guards would take a look in the rooms to make sure no one was inside. For the treasury, that was easy. I could just hide behind one of the many crown piles. For the armory it was slightly more difficult, but I could manage. The Armory had a few “changing areas” that never got checked, and I could rush in one of the rooms before the checks began.

Speaking of checks, I couldn’t check the treasury on Wednesdays, as that’s when the bean counting began. I didn’t want to risk anything happening, so I was going to avoid that day. Even worse, I’d have to put all of my stuff back by next Wednesday before the next check. How could I do that?

Luke! Of course. I could have him copy my invisibility runes so if I use any of them, I could replace them easily. As for the crowns, I’ll just take some from House Warren. I doubt they’d miss it.

It was about two weeks before I could confidently enact my plan. And it took two more days to find my missing stuff, because half of my stuff was in the treasury, but my rapier was in the armory. I made out like a bandit and prepared for my final mission.

I hit a roadblock almost immediately.

“No.” Luke blocked me off, “I asked you for a favor, and you couldn’t do it. I’m a man of my word, Theo.”

I grit my teeth. Whatever, I didn’t need him. There were alternatives.

“I’d like to buy a couple invisibility runes, scryer.” I spoke in as formal a manner as possible.

He nodded, “Nine hundred crowns for three.”

I got my runes with ease and felt confident in my abilities, but I still had one last speed bump before I could make it to House Warren.

Hey, you remember that mountain I was climbing earlier? Yeah. Turns out the Warrens are psychopaths whose house resides on top of a mountain. Even if I rented a carriage I couldn’t make it up with ease, so I had to do something a bit more drastic.

I wouldn’t be back by morning, but I could take a carriage to the mountain base, then make a two day trek up the mountain.

Ruth came to mind, and the whole ordeal felt a little less crazy.

~ஜ۩۞۩ஜ~

I felt peace, at certain points during my climb. Peace with myself and my actions, peace with my future. But I felt as if I had made a misstep somewhere. Not in terms of planning, more so with the relationship I’ve been pining for this whole time.

Ruth, the love of my life, I hardly even talked to her during this murder spree. I wished I could’ve squeezed more time in my life for her, but I’m sure she would appreciate it in the end. Once this is all over, we’d go back to our routine. I’d say I was abducted and left for dead on a mountain or something. I could give myself frostbite for all I cared.

This was the most important thing I’d ever done in my life. If that road meant I lost a limb, I’d happily walk it.

The frostbite was beginning to eke at me, slowly claiming my right hand as I could see the vague shadow of House Warren in the distance.

It truly was a ghost, that house. A castle built directly into the side of the mountain and almost made the colossus part of the kingdom itself. Every tower was gothic in appearance, and those front doors were presented to me once again.

My mind, in such a stupor, decided to invite myself through the front door, my fingers cracking and breaking as I gripped the door. No feeling left in them.

My ignorance was rewarded with hearty congratulations.

“You’ve made it, Theodore.” A man, his voice both refined and slimy. It must’ve been Thomas.

I stumbled to my feet and drew my sword with my left, leaving my right dangling at my side.

“Thomas…” I pointed my sword, “Your head.”

He shook his head, “Changing your calling card this late into the game?”

Thomas walked into the light. His hair was dark, his tunic a deep, royal purple. And his face exuded an eerie calm that became eerier the harder he smiled. His arms remained behind him.

“The ceremonial sword through the heart, slain by their own status.” His eyes stared deep into my own heart, “Was that the message you were trying to send?” He revealed his hands and in them was a crimson cloak.

I stared at that cloak, “You… you…”

“I have a few things to say, Theodore.” He began, “First, I’d like to thank you, in earnest.”

“Why?” I questioned.

He bowed and spoke quietly, “You did the hardest part for me. You killed my best friend and one of my three…” Thomas paused, then snickered quietly, “Excuse me… four rivals.”

I lowered my weapon and simply looked down. I was too weak, too tired to fight an opponent like this. If I were more lucid, less frostbitten, I may have stood a chance. But not anymore. I thought it funny, for a moment, how my first kill was done so in an adrenaline-filled rage. And now, I just found myself sitting quietly, waiting for my own death.

“I was to beat Jeremiah at Meads and Minefields and take revenge for his theft of ten thousand crowns at the gambling hall, yet it seems fate subverted that evening in such a monstrous way.” He smiled, “One that somehow turned a profit.”

He kneeled down to look at my face, then spoke in a whisper, “Don’t look so blue, Theodore.” He smiled and lifted my chin slightly, bringing our eyes together, “Ruth will not suffer. She’ll be treated with the utmost care and compassion, as if she were a lamb.”

This bastard. This bastard. Acting like he cared about Ruth.

“You’re a fucking liar.” I groaned, “You’re a piece of shit! You’ll make her life miserable and I fucking know it!” I choked, “You… You’ll kill whoever you please to keep that fantasy alive.”

I took a few deep breaths, “I’d keep her safe, but you… not you.”

Thomas let my head fall again, stood up, and began to cackle. He halfheartedly tried to keep it to himself. Thomas stopped for a moment before quietly musing, “Projecting, Theodore? You cannot be serious.”

The bastard was about to take everything from me and he was just laughing. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it, so I just let him have his potluck.

Desperately, I clung to life. I couldn’t fight, I couldn’t rebuke him, so the only thing I could do now was beg.

“I… I don’t want to die.” I began to croak.

He shook his head, “If I were caught and revealed as a murderer and I was to be executed, I would smile and say ‘I had a good run’. You…” He began to snarl, “You’re a bloody coward.”

I said nothing. There was nothing left to say.

He saw fit to continue, “You know, Theodore. It didn’t have to be like this.” He gazed at the castle interior, walking around me, “This mountain was designed as a natural defense against intruders. However, there are secret locations in noble territory that would allow for the usage of teleportation magic, bypassing the mountain entirely.

Thomas stopped in front of me, “These altars are heavily guarded, of course. Wouldn’t want a thief to just run in, yes? But it means that your two day climb took Ruth and Lucius two seconds.”

I looked up.

“Theodore Wells.” Lucius spoke with as much dignity as he could muster. “You look pathetic.”

Next to Lucius was Ruth. She wasn’t even looking at me.

“I am pathetic.” I replied despondently.

I felt the grip of plate metal on my arms. The guards were already dragging me away to be hung, I’m sure. With the last of my strength, I called out to Ruth.

“Ruth!” I wailed, “I love you! I’ll always love you!”

I could see her face turn to scorn the moment I said that. Rightfully so, I suppose.

Well, that was the story of how I died. I was dragged into the courtyard and was forced to endure one of the most brutal executions known to the Genesian people. No hanging, no guillotine. I was forced to starve to death, chained to a wall. A fitting end for a sous chef.

As my last bastions of consciousness departed from me, I had one last comforting thought before I fell into oblivion.

“At least she’ll marry someone just like me.”


End file.
